Three winds in my head,
A soft wind from the west,
A cold wind from the south,
And east blows a tropical wind.
They meet in the center,
As a migraine,
And the lights go out.
All is black peripheral
And the center is flickering rainbows,
With a sick swirl half-color
Like oil spilled across a rain puddle.
If I could see the screen on the phone,
I'd call into work.
My right drums fingers and thumb
Across the glass of my telephone.
With head leaned back on the couch,
I let out a sigh.
Cluster storm migraine,
From both hemispheres,
With occipital lobe disturbances.
There is a pattern here,
But I was too busy worried about Christmas
I forgot to notice them –
Like checking the weather every so often –
These things can be predicted.
Something in me
Wanted a day off.
If it's medical,
They'll understand --
I'll just take this day
To watch the rainy colors in my head.
Storm -- Robert Civello